we'll hopscotch the moon
eating chocolate bars, singing
out of tune. We'll pack wings
and head to the sky. But tomorrow

like a shower quickly passed
by. She says we'll meet
under the stars. She'll bring
the whisky, and I the cigars. I'll ride

the bike. She'll sit on the
handlebars. She says just wait
till the juniper berries stick out
their thumbs then we'll have

a merry time. It's not too
late! We're in our prime. But as I
look in the glass there's more gray
than black. Crevices rise when once

they lied flat. She says we'll rock
in her car, with the radio blasting
and windows ajar. But the only rocking
I do is in my recliner. So, tomorrow we'll eat

at the diner, binging on cheeseburgers,
wearing red lipstick and eyeliner. We'll talk
about when we were kids and hopscotched
the moon. How's about next year? See you in June.